


Tales From Hope County

by StaticVagrant



Series: Hope and Mercy [2]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-05-28 09:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15045866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaticVagrant/pseuds/StaticVagrant
Summary: A collection of self-contained stories based around Preaching to the Converted.





	1. Vantage Point

**Author's Note:**

> So these will be a series of drabbles/fluff pieces based around the main story, Preaching to the Converted. Some of them are ideas I didn't fit into _Preaching_ , some of them are plot/character building. Expect a lot of them to be smutty (that's why people are here, right?).
> 
> In Vantage Point, the Deputy stops to rest at a lookout tower in Holland Valley when she’s contacted by John Seed (set before Preaching to the Converted).

_Welcome to the Howard Cabin  
_ _Est. 1965_

Mercy, the junior deputy of Hope County, looked from the sign to the boarded up windows and door of the little wooden shack - Howard Cabin hadn’t been lived in for some time. At the back of the small cabin was a hatch leading to a cosy bunker and with a little elbow grease, she was able to pull it open and descend the ladder swiftly. Surprisingly, the lights were on and it was well-stocked - jars and cans of food were to the left, and to the right was the small kitchen area. The deputy spied a note on the countertop and picked it up, scanning it quickly - it was written by a woman called Niesha, and spoke of her feeling guilty and going to John Seed to be absolved of her guilt and her sins. Scoffing, Mercy put the note down and pressed further into the bunker. Apart from a fishing magazine, there was nothing there that could be of use to her, so she pinched a couple of tins of food, putting them into her backpack and ascended the ladder once more.

It was getting late, and even though she could stay in the bunker, it was situated too close to the road and offered little chance of escape if the Peggies found it, so she decided to head for higher ground. There was a lookout tower a little further ahead that would make a better shelter - at least she could see her enemies coming. As quickly and quietly as possible, she began the trek up the mountain to the tower, sticking to the trees so as not to be seen. Wanting to avoid the road, she snuck off to the right, hugging the rocks and pulling herself up onto one to get a better view, but could only see the roof of the tower. She mentally kicked herself for buying a silencer instead of a scope for the rifle she’d taken from one of the Peggies on Dutch’s island, lamenting that she hadn’t been able to scrape enough cash together to purchase both. Pulling herself up onto the next rock, she crouched low and hugged the bushes, creeping up further. The light was low and fading fast, which would make her harder to see in the dark clothes Dutch had provided.

Cautiously, she pressed forward towards the tower. There was one guard at the foot of the stairs, so she snuck up behind him, Dutch’s words echoing in her head:

_“Gotta kill them before they kill you, kid. It's the only way you're gonna survive out there.”_

Taking a deep breath, Mercy took the Peggie down with ease, breaking his neck and pulling him back under the staircase before doing a slow, silent sweep around the base of the tower. Finding no one else on the ground, she climbed the stairs slowly, gun raised. There was one Peggie in the tower, looking down at paperwork on the desk and tapping his foot along to the Peggie radio station, and another patrolling the balcony, facing away from the stairs. She crouched low and darted to the left, staying below the windows and pushed up to the next corner, waiting for the patrolling Peggie to come her way. Sure enough, he stepped in front of her and she kicked his feet out from under him before driving a throwing knife into his throat, muffling his strangled cry with her palm.

“Huh? What’s going on?” asked the Peggie inside. The sound of his chair scraping along the ground as he stood seemed to go through her like nails on a chalkboard and was quickly followed by the sound of heavy boots on the wooden floorboards.

“Fuck,” Mercy muttered, unsure which way he was going to come from. She turned around, gun raised, as he came around the corner by the stairs. Without hesitation, she fired in his direction, watching as the bullets left three neat holes in his chest. He fell back to the floor, silent and unmoving. Closing her eyes briefly, she listened carefully for any other Peggies that may have been in the area. The wind rustled through the leaves of nearby trees and a somewhere in the distance a bird was singing its last song for the day. Aside from those gentle sounds, Mercy heard nothing else, so began moving the bodies downstairs to lie with the first one.

Tiredly, she dragged the last body under the stairs of the lookout tower. It had been a long few days - she had been “Cleansed” by John Seed a few days prior, then taken the Gardenview Packing Facility from the Peggie’s control after she was released. She spent the day helping the Resistance move in, before resupplying and heading south, freeing a handful of hostages along the way. Now she was at Lincoln Lookout Tower, apparently, which was moderately secure with only one entry from the road and had an unobstructed view over her immediate area.

Slowly trudging back up the stairs, she entered the tower and scowled at the radio.

_”Keep your rifle by your side! Singin’, Oh Lord, this Earth was made for us! Singin’, Oh Lord this sinful life just ain’t enough!”_

The radio wobbled on the desk, shaking with the force she used to hit the switch to turn it off. Sighing, she removed the pistol from its holster on her hip, placing it under the pillow on the bottom bunk before removing her pants and boots, placing them neatly at the end of the bed. The tins of food she had taken from the Howard Cabin bunker earlier called to her but she pushed her hunger aside, deciding sleep was more important. She could eat in the morning. Instead, she slowly reached for her radio to check in with Dutch, sinking down to sit on the bed.

“Dutch, it’s Mercy. You awake? Over.”

The familiar crackling static came from the radio. _“Yup. Heard you took out Gardenview Packing Facility. Great work, kid. Where are you now? Over."_

Mercy rubbed her left thigh with her free hand, pressing against a bruise that was coming up where the butt of a Peggie’s rifle had slammed into it when she spear-tackled him. “Lincoln Lookout Tower. I’ll camp here tonight and head out again tomorrow. Over.”

_”Touch base with the folk at Fall’s End, then try and take out Seed Ranch next if you can, that’s John Seed’s home - that’ll put a dent in their plans for sure. It’s in the Southwest of the region, shouldn’t be hard to find. John likes to plaster his face all over the place, if you haven’t noticed. Over.”_

She _had_ noticed, and had seen a couple of billboards around the Valley plastered with his face, grinning like a Cheshire Cat and preaching the Power of Yes, whatever that was. “Got it. Mercy out, before I pass out.”

_”Stay safe, kid. Dutch out."_

She put the radio on the small table next to the bunk bed, switched off the light and slid under the blanket of the bottom bunk, closing her eyes and sighing contentedly as she sunk into the soft mattress.

_”You’ve been a busy girl, Deputy.”_

John Seed’s voice crackled from her radio, practically singing the last word gleefully, as if he knew he would be disrupting her sleep. Mercy groaned and turned away from it, pulling the blanket over her head and willing him to go away. It was late, she was too tired to handle his bullshit, didn't want to, just wanted to be left alone to sleep. John had been taunting her through the damn radio since she arrived in Holland Valley, calling out to her at all times of the day and night, trying to distract her. It had gotten worse since the Cleansing, sometimes he would contact her multiple times a day, mostly for no reason she could see except to annoy the ever-loving shit out of her. Mercy had considered dumping the radio just to get rid of him. But she couldn’t do that, she needed to maintain contact with Dutch.

_”Don’t turn away from me. Pick up the radio.”_

Icy cold panic trickled down her spine and her eyes snapped open. How could he see her? She turned over and reached for the pistol first, then the radio. “Where the fuck are you?” she asked angrily, pointing the pistol at the doorway.

The sound of his laughter came through the radio, deep and rich. _“Safe in my home,”_ was his reply. _”But you took an important facility from me today,_ and _killed all my men at that lookout tower. I thought we might have a little chat, face-to-face. You’ve had your fun. But all sinners must confess. This is the will of the Father. ”_

“Don’t fuck with me,” she growled, looking around wildly. “Where are you?”

_”Are you really this stupid? They’re called security cameras, there’s one outside the window opposite the bunk, looking right at you. Go on, see for yourself.”_

Mercy ripped the blanket from her body and turned on the light, still pointing her pistol at the door. She approached the small stove and peered out of the window - sure enough, there was a security camera pointing inside the building. _Shit._

 _”Not a bad view, Deputy. Come on, why not take off the shirt too? Give me a show.”_ he said smoothly, and she could picture the grin on his stupid bearded face. _”On second thought, you might want to get dressed, because my men are coming for you. Unless you’re happy to come in without pants. The choice is yours.”_

She bolted for the door and stood on the landing. Sure enough, four armed vehicles were coming up the hill towards the lookout. _Shit, shit, shit._ She threw her pistol and radio on the bed, hastily pulling on her pants and boots before grabbing her rifle.

 _”Such a shame,”_ John said in mock disappointment as she prepared to mow down whoever came through the door. _“But you forgot about the ladder. Turn around.”_

Stupidly, she followed his instruction and saw a Peggie guard aiming his gun at her. Before she could react he’d pulled the trigger and hit her twice with Bliss bullets, the glass shattering loudly as he fired through the window. Immediately she fell backwards, bright spots clouding her vision as the world seemed to slow down and the rifle clattered to the floor. She stumbled backwards into another Peggie, who gently caught her around the waist and lifted her into his arms. As he carried her through the door, she heard John’s voice from the radio again.

_”I’ll see you soon, Deputy.”_


	2. Cell Block Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Deputy takes a moment for herself in the cold cell in John’s Gate, but her fantasies take an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Smut.

Mercy wasn't sure how long she had been in the cell for. John hadn't been to visit for a long time, and aside from the Peggies who came in every so often to give her food, she only had the radio for company. Loneliness had started to slowly eat away at her and she found herself craving human contact, sometimes even wishing her captor would come and see her, even if it were just for a few minutes. She was sitting on the mattress and humming along to the radio when the lights went out, signalling time for sleep. This time though, there was no light coming through the small window in her cell door from the corridor beyond, leaving the cell pitch black. Sighing softly, she crawled blindly to the bench to turn off the radio and then walked carefully back to the mattress, shimmying out of her tracksuit pants and laying down.

Sleep wasn't ready to claim her yet, and the darkness offered a rare slice of privacy, so she used the opportunity to her advantage. Taking a deep breath, Mercy reached down and slipped her hand into her panties, using two fingers to massage her clit gently. She knew she probably shouldn't be masturbating, someone could walk in at any moment, but she was touch-starved, lonely and needed a release. Exhaling slowly, her mind wandered to her ex-boyfriend, his smooth tanned skin, hazel eyes, rippling abs. He was conventionally attractive, and sex with him had been fine (albeit a little boring). But as he was the last person she slept with, he was the easiest place to start her fantasy. Throwing the blanket off her body, she parted her knees and settled back, imagining him on top of her (his favourite position, of course). She could still imagine what his skin felt like against hers, his sloppy kisses, the small grunt he made with every thrust. Without warning her fantasy changed, the tanned skin and wide shoulders replaced by pale flesh littered with scars and tattoos, narrow hips, the scratch of a dark beard on her cheek.

_“Deputy…”_

Mercy gasped and pulled her hand away, scolding herself for thinking about John Seed in that way. “He's your enemy,” she aloud to no one. The half-hearted warning didn't push the image from her mind, or the memory of the way he felt against her when they'd fought weeks ago in the cell. Why did he feel so safe, so familiar? _It couldn’t hurt to think about him, it’s only fantasy, after all…_ a small voice in her head suggested. Groaning in defeat, she went to return her hand to her panties when the red emergency light came on in the far corner of the cell. She paused and sat up, twisting to look towards the door. There was no sound coming from the corridor and still no light coming through the window in her cell door. Mercy waited a few minutes before assuming it was some sort of fault and flopped back against the mattress once more, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties and mind returning shamefully to thoughts of John laying with her. She wondered what he looked like naked, what other tattoos and scars did he hide beneath his tailored clothes? What would his lips feel like against hers? What about his teeth on her skin?

She used these questions to build her fantasy, imagining him walking into the cell and backing her into the bench, hands on her hips, mouth claiming hers immediately. He pinned her to the cold metal and her hands immediately went to his vest to undo the buttons.

“Fuck the vest,” he said roughly against her mouth, grabbing her hands and lowering them to his belt.

She fumbled with the buckle as he continued to kiss her, his hands trying to push her tracksuit pants down. She shoved his hands away and gave him a warning look. “If you want me to undo this belt, stop fucking moving,” she growled at him.

He blinked at her and took a step back, moving his hands to her shoulders and pressing down, smirking. God, even in her fantasies he was a self-centred ass - shouldn’t he be giving her what she wants? Despite herself, she imagined dropping to her knees, face level with his crotch, and freeing him from those infuriatingly snug black jeans. Mercy dipped her fingers down to her entrance, wetting her fingertips before bringing them back to her clit and increasing her pace. She pictured herself leaning towards his flushed cock and licking a bead of precum from the tip before parting her lips and taking him into her mouth as much as she was able, pulling back slowly and pushing forwards once more. His hands came to rest on the back of her head to hold her in place as he thrust into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat each time he slid into her. Mercy braced her hands on his thighs, keeping a steady pressure on him with her mouth as he took from her. She snuck a quick glance up at him and found him with his eyes closed and cheeks flushed, breathing heavily through slightly parted lips. He groaned and pulled her forwards, holding her in place, fingers twisting in her hair as the tip of his cock pressed hot and heavy on the back of her throat. She inhaled deeply and tried to relax as much as she could before he finally released her. Pulling away from him completely, she ran her tongue along the underside of his shaft from base to tip before looking up at him and raising her brows.

John held his hands out to pull her up and then fell to his knees before her, tugging her pants and underwear off with ease. He hooked one hand around the back of her knee, prompting her to raise her leg and he guided it over his shoulder, leaning forwards and kissing her clit with the same intensity he did her mouth, all pressure and teeth and tongue. Mercy moaned aloud in her cell, unable to stop the sound escaping as she pictured herself leaning against the bench while he devoured her. It wasn’t enough though, she needed more, more skin, more lips, more everything, and so in her fantasy she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him back before boosting herself up onto the bench, knees parted, inviting him to take her. That was all she needed, all she wanted was him pressed against her, _inside_ her, she craved it.

Fantasy John, of course, obliged; standing swiftly and pushing deep into where she ached with need. Mercy let her other hand wander between her legs as she pictured him inside her, hands flat on the bench on either side of her body, face pressed against her neck, biting _just_ hard enough to make her moan. She dipped two fingers into herself and gasped at the sensation - she was so _wet_ , it was so _easy_ and she just _needed_ -

It was enough to push her over the edge as she imagined holding onto him tightly while he thrust into her, her eyes squeezed shut tight. She couldn’t stop his name from tumbling past her lips as she came hard, hips rising up to meet her own hands, muscles clamping down on her fingers and refusing to let go. Giving herself a moment to calm down, she opened her eyes and looked towards the door. The corridor light was on again and the emergency light was off. Covering her body with the blanket once more, she turned on her side and curled in on herself, trying to think of anyone but John.


	3. The Right Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph Seed has a vision of his youngest brother’s demise and vows to put him on the right path to salvation.

Joseph Seed was never wrong. He stood silently in the doorway of the dimly-lit cell, watching the deputy who had tried to arrest him months earlier cry in his younger brother’s arms. John knelt on the floor with her, stroking her hair, holding her tightly to his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if he hadn't spent weeks touring her, as if comforting another person was second nature to him. The deputy relaxed into John as her tears subsided and she settled snugly against him, looking untroubled for the briefest moment. Her eyes met Joseph's and she nodded once, agreeing to finally confess, just as he knew she would.

As she was prepared for her confession, Joseph sat alone in the small interview room, waiting, thinking. He was confident she posed a minimal threat to them now, but he needed to see his vision come to life, he needed her to save John from himself.

***

_“God will not let you take me.”_

Those were the words Joseph said to the deputy as she stood before him, unsure, hesitant. He watched as she grew increasingly agitated by the bickering between the Sheriff and the Marshal, confusion and frustration showing on her face, like a child listening to her parents argue. Their agitated voices echoed around the cosy church as her focus flicked between him and his siblings - first to Jacob, then to himself, onto John, then Faith, back to John. The decision was ultimately hers to make: walk away and leave peacefully, or trigger the beginning of the end. He had seen her in a vision tearing through the county, leaving a trail of death and destruction in her wake. More disturbingly, he had witnessed the deaths of his sister and older brother at her hands in that vision; the images of Faith’s body floating down the Henbane River and Jacob bleeding out slumped against a boulder often pushed their way to the forefront of his mind. Exhaling sharply through her nose, the young woman before him reached out and clicked the metal cuffs around his outstretched wrists, stepping around him and placing her gloved hand on his shoulder to push him towards the church doors. With that, her decision was made - but unbeknownst to Joseph at that moment, he could change her path.

After the helicopter crash, the deputy had fled into the forest in the same direction as the Marshal, disappearing from sight and leaving her team behind. His siblings approached the ruined aircraft and Joseph watched Jacob scan the wreckage, his gaze settling on the male deputy passed out in the cockpit. Jacob plucked the dark-haired young man from the wreckage and studied his face before throwing him over his shoulder and turning to Joseph.

“I'm taking this one with me,” Jacob said firmly.

John stood by the other woman from the Sheriff's party, who was slowly coming to and tugging desperately at the restraint keeping her bound to the seat in the helicopter. Faith soothed the concerned members of Joseph’s flock around the crash site, assuring them their Father was unharmed. John, however, wasn’t paying attention to the commotion around him - he was staring wistfully into the trees where the red-haired deputy had disappeared, anger slowly twisting his lovely face into a mask of hatred. Joseph approached his younger brother and gently placed his hand on the side of John's neck to try and soothe him. In that moment, Joseph saw the fork in his younger brother’s path. On the left, he saw John on his back in a pool of his own blood while the deputy stood over him, pistol in one hand and John's bunker key in the other. Joseph could taste blood in his mouth, feel the pulse of the bullet holes in John’s chest and stomach, feel the pure hatred and loathing John felt towards the young woman standing over him. The deputy’s face was a cold mask of anger and disgust and she turned on her heel, leaving John's now lifeless body alone in the dirt, his beautiful features covered in grime and blood. John's own wrath brought him to this lonely demise, so consumed was he with wanting to punish her for the chaos she reigned through Hope. Joseph’s throat constricted at the thought of losing his brother again so soon after waiting for such a long time to be reunited with him.

On the right was a blur of motion and sound, and he struggled to keep up with the ever-changing scenes before him: John seeking comfort in the deputy’s arms, the deputy pulling him down to kiss her, the deputy proudly singing in their choir, John slicing through the sin inked into her flesh as she atoned before Joseph's congregation, both of them emerging from John's Gate to step into the new Eden, and finally John, his hair grey and his face lined, passing peacefully while she held his hands in her own, lips pressed to his withered fingers. Even as John drew his final breath, Joseph could only feel one thing from John in those moments with her - _love._

Joseph dropped his hand as John stepped away from him to pull the other woman from the helicopter. “Come on, princess,” John grinned down at the woman who was struggling against him. “You're going to be on TV. Isn't that exciting?”

As Joseph watched his siblings leave with their captives, he knew which path he needed to guide John towards. He could see the deputy had a new purpose - she would be his brother's salvation.

***

When Joseph heard John's men had captured the young deputy in Holland Valley, he was both anxious and excited, and demanded to be taken to her Cleansing. When he arrived, he found John forcing her under the water, his anger and his wrath devouring him as he took his frustrations out on her. Her hands reached out, slippery fingers struggling to find purchase on John's forearms as she fought the Cleansing. Joseph couldn't shake the images of his most recent vision from his mind as John raise the woman from the water only to try and force her under again, and he stepped forward to intervene, to guide his brother towards the right path.

“Do you mock the Cleansing, John?” he asked, stopping the younger man in his tracks. “You have to love them, John. Do not let your sin prevent that. Bring that one to me.”

The deputy was dragged towards him and he cupped her face in his hands, freezing as a new scene flashed before his eyes. He could see her straddling John, head back and lips parted, John's hands guiding her hips over him as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against her naked shoulder. The deputy was too Bliss-addled to notice his slight pause and seemed to sway under his touch as though drunk.

“Despite all that you have done, you are not beyond salvation,” he told her, knowing John was listening intently. “You're not here by accident or by chance. You're here by the grace of God. You've been given a gift. Now it remains to be seen if you choose to embrace it... or to cast it aside.” He released her and turned to John, who had approached quietly, his anger still radiating from him in waves, reminding Joseph of the image he saw of John bleeding out on the ground. “This one shall reach the Atonement. Or the Gates of Eden shall be shut to you, John.”

Joseph hoped that had been warning enough, but it had not. John had her captured a second time and had tried to torture her, but she escaped from under his nose. Joseph had tried to contact his younger brother, warning him about the vision he'd had the night of the failed arrest. John did not respond. The deputy had then broken into Seed Ranch and listened to that message before John apprehended her. The youngest Seed contacted Joseph excitedly, unable to hide his pride, gloating about how _easy_ it was to sneak up on her.

“I have her in my bunker, she _will_ confess, she will atone. I promise you.” John’s voice came through the radio, all feverish excitement.

“She is to remain alive, John. We need her. Do not let your sin taint her confession.”

The young woman had denied John at every turn, refusing to give him any information about the Resistance whatsoever. But now she was weakened and hurting, there was nothing to stop Joseph from asking for her help. After all she had done, all of the damage and destruction she brought upon them after only a few short weeks in the county, surely she couldn't refuse a small request from him?

That brought him to the present, with the deputy sitting opposite him, cuffed to the table. “I want you to help him,” Joseph said quietly. “Help him find the light again. If you do that, you will march through Eden’s Gate with us and be safe from the Collapse. I have faith in you, child.” She looked like she was prepared to argue, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand. “You may stay here to think about this opportunity. Or you can go free today, if you agree to assist me.”

She appeared to struggle with her decision for a moment before conceding. “Yes. What would you have me do?”

“I trust you will do what is right.”

He called his brother back into the room and told John the deputy would be his responsibility until she atoned. John did not argue, but seemed dissatisfied with that news - he was extremely protective of what was his, and Joseph knew he would not take kindly to having her in his home. Knowing this, Joseph hoped that protectiveness would eventually extend to her. He stood and touched his forehead to John's. “I will be in contact with you soon,” he said before leaving the room.

Joseph walked through the corridors to the bunker doors feeling content. He had saved his flock from the deputy’s wrath. He had saved her from John's, and she in turn would save John from himself and show him again what it was to have love in his life; the kind that he and Jacob could not provide, but that John so desperately needed. Exiting the bunker,  Joseph smiled to himself as he envisioned what was to come - knew he had put them both on the correct path, because Joseph Seed was always right.


	4. The Power of Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff piece in the Lamb of God Church sometime during the events of early chapter 8.
> 
>  **Warning:** NSFW.

The black pickup truck slowly pulled up outside the grand white church, coming to a stop beside a sign that proudly proclaimed:

_ SOULS DO NOT HARVEST THEMSELVES _

John Seed opened the door and stepped down from the driver’s seat of the truck, his boots sinking slightly into the soft dirt of the driveway. He heard the passenger door of his truck close as a second pickup pulled up behind his own, five armed soldiers exiting the vehicle and approaching him. Turning his head towards his truck again, he quickly glanced at his still unnamed companion. She was looking around the grounds curiously, slowly making her way around the truck to him as she took in their surroundings.

He turned back to his men. “Guard the perimeter. Do not enter the church unless someone’s dead or something is on fire,” he commanded and watched them scatter away from him.

“What are we doing here?” his companion asked, coming to stand next to him.

John looked down at the deputy, her hair glistening copper and gold in the dewy late afternoon light, bright eyes staring into his, and felt a tight knot form in the pit of his stomach. “The Father wishes to hold a sermon here this Sunday, and since it’s been a while since I’ve been to this particular church, I thought it best to make sure it’s ready,” he replied smoothly, turning to face the building.

He looked over his shoulder in the direction of his men - they were all turned away from him, away from the church, and were watching towards the road. Feeling confident he wouldn’t be seen, John slipped his hand into hers and tugged her towards to building. The deputy had been with him at the Ranch for a couple of months now and he was getting more comfortable with her - comfortable enough to sleep in her bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to go beyond that, as much as he might want to. He’d kept her locked in his bunker for three months and tortured her - why she was letting him sleep in her bed was beyond him. But she did, and it gave him a small slice of much-needed solace and warmth that he received from no other part of his life. She had been free of the bunker for about two months - free from the bunker, but still technically a prisoner in his home. He'd considered trying to set her free to see what she would do, but found the closer he got to her, the more he wanted her to stay.

They walked up the steps to the church, past the small cemetery on the left and he opened the door to let her inside. The deputy paused before she entered, her head turned towards a  _ Wanted  _ poster pinned up next to the door - a poster with  _ her _ face on it. John reached in front of her and pulled it down, screwing it into a ball and throwing it onto the garden bench next to the door. Narrowing her eyes at him, the deputy walked into the church silently. He let her hand go and shrugged off his coat, hanging it up on the coat stand in the small entryway. The deputy was already in the main hall of the church, which he noticed was an absolute mess. John sighed softly as he calculated how many people he’d need to get in to clean it up. The pews were askew, there were boxes everywhere, crates of weapons and ammunition…

The sound of the deputy’s laughter brought him back to the present and he turned to see her standing in front of a poster that was plastered to the wall to their left. The poster had an image of his face, sunglasses on, proudly proclaiming  _ The Power of Yes. _ Still giggling, she looked at him and then doubled over, tears of mirth streaming down her face.

He stormed towards her and crossed his arms. “What’s so funny?” Her laughter was infectious and he was finding it difficult not to laugh with her, despite being in the dark as to why she was so entertained.

Straightening up, she shrugged, an enormous grin still plastered to her face. “Nothing, Rockstar,” she said, catching the tip of her tongue between her teeth and turning away from him to saunter up the red carpet in the aisle toward the altar. John looked between her and the poster, confused. What was so funny about it? “These flowers are fresh. Has someone been here recently?” she called out to him.

He approached the altar and studied the flowers. They were indeed fresh, but he hadn’t put them there and hadn’t ordered anyone else to, which meant it must have been the damn Resistance. He’d have to have the church under constant guard from now on. Raising his gaze from the flowers, he found the deputy standing directly in front of him. She stood on the platform, now almost matching his height, and was so close all he would have to do would be to lean forwards the tiniest bit to kiss her like he did in the river all those months ago - so he did. There was no uncertainty this time, he knew what he wanted and she knew it too, pressing herself against him and wrapping her arms around his neck. John parted her lips with his tongue and groaned slightly against her mouth as her tongue pushed back against his. He bent forwards enough to grab the back of her thighs to lift her up and she wrapped her legs around his hips immediately. Stepping up onto the platform, he placed her on top of the wooden podium and moved one hand to her lower back, the other sliding up to paw at her breast through the fabric of her dress.

The deputy moaned softly and used her legs to pull him towards her more, shifting her hips to press against the front of his jeans. John tore his mouth from hers and dropped his lips to her jaw, trailing slowly down her neck. His hand on her back moved up between her shoulder blades as she leaned back into his touch, gasping as he sucked on the skin at the nape of her neck. Giving the nipple under his hand one final pinch, he moved that hand to her knee, sliding it up her thigh and pushing the skirt of her dress up before dipping his fingers between their bodies, his index finger brushing along her panties, which he was pleasantly surprised to find soaked through. She wriggled against him, hand cupping the back of his neck as he pulled away from her throat and claimed her lips once more, his fingers deftly pushing her panties to one side. Leaning away slightly, he held her gaze, a smile curling the corners of his mouth.

“You know what you need to say,” he growled, glancing darkly at the poster behind her.

She turned her head and looked at the poster before looking back at him and leaning forward, her lips brushing against his lightly. “Yes.”

Without hesitation, he plunged two fingers into her and kissed her again roughly. She accidentally bit down on his bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering his name with his lip between her teeth. Sliding his fingers back, he pushed them in again and she bit down harder.

“Ow,” he mumbled awkwardly, curling his fingers up slightly before sliding them out of her again and pausing. He wasn’t bothered by the pain, but wasn’t sure how he’d explain a bite mark through his lip to Joseph if she sunk her teeth into him any harder.

“Sorry,” she muttered, releasing his lip.

John bowed his head to her throat once more, sucking hard enough to bruise as his fingers slipped into her again. Changing his position between her thighs allowed his hand more room, moving his arm so the heel of his palm rubbed against her clit. She cried out again, head dropping back and she gasped for breath, trying to part her thighs without losing her balance on the podium. It didn’t take her long to break under his ministrations, her tight muscles clamping down on his fingers and a warm, wet heat flooding into his palm as he kept moving his digits in and out of her. She gripped his shoulders tightly as she came, her body trembling against him, face pressed to the junction of his neck and shoulder. Eventually, she lowered one hand to his, stopping his movements, panting against his flushed skin. He removed his fingers and brought them to his lips, slowly licking the slick liquid from his fingertips.

“John?” she asked sharply. “John! What are you doing?”

The deputy was still standing in front of him on the platform, arms crossed and one brow raised. John realised he'd been daydreaming - he was standing in the same spot, staring at her blankly. Too late, he realized his fingers were in his mouth and hastily dropped his hand, turning away from her and walking into the small kitchen area off to the side, clearing his throat.

“Looks like the Resistance has been here - I’ll get people in to clean up and guard the building,” he said gruffly, turning so he was out of her sight and stopping next to the door, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. The front of his jeans was uncomfortably tight and he willed himself to calm down.

“Alright,” she called from the other room, before she stuck her head through the doorway and looked up at him. “But those fingers looked pretty tasty, let me know when you’re ready to share.” She flashed him a wicked smile and disappeared again, leaving him staring after her in shock.


	5. Ruin the Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junior Deputy Mercy is great at ruining the moment (set sometime during the events of early chapter 8).

Sunlight crept in through the crack in the curtains, illuminating the room and making it just that bit too bright to sleep. Mercy fidgeted slightly, trying to wake her tired limbs, but her movements were stilled when the arm around her waist tightened its grip. Judging by his breathing, John was still asleep, his nose pressed against her shoulder and breath warm on her skin. He brought his legs up, pushing her legs up with them so he was curled around her, a far cry from the guarded, often cold man he presented to the world. The arm around her waist pulled her back against his chest, like a child with a teddy bear. She was surrounded by him, by his body and his warmth, and had become used to him being there when sleep consumed her and sometimes when she awoke. He’d been sleeping with her for a little over three months now, she calculated (in a totally non-sexual way, no matter how much her traitorous body might want otherwise). As much as she probably shouldn't, she couldn't help but enjoy these quiet moments, caught in a bubble of contentment where she didn't have to think about Cleansings, the cult or the Resistance. She could just _be_. And if she were being totally honest, despite all he'd put her through, she was starting to genuinely enjoy the company of the man laying behind her, especially when he held her like this.

Although still unsure where she stood with him, Mercy found when it was the two of them alone, John was more relaxed and would even respond to her jokes or playfulness. She smiled as she remembered watching him zone out when they were in the Lamb of God church the previous month. John wouldn't tell her what he was thinking about, but the slow and deliberate way he'd put his fingers in his mouth made her think those thoughts surely couldn't be pure. _“But those fingers looked pretty tasty, let me know when you’re ready to share.”_ she had teased him at the time, taking a small amount of satisfaction from the look of pure shock she received in return. She knew she shouldn't say things like that, shouldn't flirt with him, but it was so _easy_. While she was reminiscing, he pressed his hips into hers and she could feel the long, hard line of him pressing against her ass through his boxers and her panties. Shocked, she gasped and thrust her hips forward away from his, waking him up with a start and ruining her moment of calm.

John bolted upright, looking around wildly and threw the blanket off. The cool morning air attacked her warm skin and she made a small noise of annoyance. “What?” he asked urgently. Now he was sitting she could see the source of her shock, proudly stretching the thin black cotton covering it. She turned over and started to pull the blanket up wordlessly, tucking it around his waist and giving him a pointed look as she did so. “Oh,” was all he had to say before he lay down again, pulling the blanket back up to her shoulders and pushing her over roughly to face away from him. Wrapping his arm around her once more, he pulled her back against his chest firmly. “Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t, I’m awake now,” Mercy said, fidgeting against him.

“If you keep doing _that_ , Deputy, we’re going to have a problem,” John murmured against her shoulder, pressing his hips forward slightly to make his point.

She froze, fighting the urge to push back against him as she wondered who this imposter was and what he had done with John Seed. More importantly, now he was awake, why hadn’t he left to start his day? Usually, he was out of the room straight away when he woke up or gone before she was awake. “Why are you still here?” she asked quietly.

He sighed in frustration but didn’t move except for his thumb stroking her stomach. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” The word escaped before she could stop herself and she winced.

“Then shut up and go back to sleep.”

He moved his hand to trail his fingers lightly down her arm, goosebumps rising in the wake of their touch. It was a pleasant sensation, and she felt her muscles melt as her eyes closed and she settled back into him again. The last thing she remembered was his arm slipping once more around her waist, and could have sworn she felt his lips ghosting over her bare shoulder.

***

When Mercy awoke the second time, she was alone. Getting out of bed to shower, her mind was hazy as she fought to hold onto that feeling of contentment that enveloped her when she lay in his arms earlier. She chastised herself, standing under the hot spray. _Stop thinking about it, it means nothing,_ the pessimistic voice in her head snapped.

_Then why does he keep coming back?_ a smaller voice asked as she pulled a dress from the closet.

Heading downstairs, she found John sitting at the table, his fingers attacking his laptop’s keyboard and a picnic basket sitting to his right.

“What’s all this?” she asked curiously.

He whipped his head around and looked at her, annoyed. “I swear you’re a fucking ninja,” he growled. She held her hands up, palms facing him and shrugged, grinning at him in apology. “I don’t have anywhere to be today for once, so you and I are going out,” he said, standing and handing her the basket. It was heavy and she went to peek inside, but he stopped her. “Ah-ah-ah, no looking until we get there. Come on, Little Dove.”

Mercy rolled her eyes and followed him out of the house to a waiting car. It wasn't unusual to leave the Ranch with John, but they always had a purpose or a goal, some Project-related task that needed to be fulfilled and he would drag her along for the ride. It was an eye-opening experience that allowed her to meet many of the Project members, all of whom had welcomed her into their community with open arms.

The car sitting outside was nothing like the pickup trucks John usually drove; it was a small, two-door, shiny red sports car. He opened the passenger door and gestured for her to sit. “Is this your midlife crisis car?” she asked jokingly as she threw herself into the passenger’s seat, the picnic basket sitting on the floor between her feet.

“Excuse me? I’m thirty-two, that’s hardly middle-aged,” he replied, faking outrage.

“Huh, you’re younger than I thought,” she mused, clicking the seatbelt into place. “I’m twenty-eight.”

“And you’re calling _me_ old?”

She shook her head, smirking at him. John was off in an instant, speeding down the long driveway where two armored pickup trucks were waiting to follow them. He didn’t slow down as he reached the end of the driveway, instead opting to perform a handbrake turn and swung wildly out onto the road, turning left. She gripped the dashboard with both hands and the basket with her calves, suddenly afraid for her safety.

“Calm down,” he said bemusedly. “I _do_ know how to drive.” John’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and his hand twitched over the handbrake but he clearly thought better of it, slowing down just a fraction.

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically. Her relief was short-lived as he yanked on the handbrake again anyway to turn right over a bridge, forcing an oncoming van to veer out of the way. He finally slowed down, bringing the car to a stop next to a sign that read _Pick Your Own Pumpkins_ and killed the engine, getting out and waiting for the two following vehicles to catch up. The armed pickup trucks pulled up behind John’s car and Mercy noticed Brother James, John’s personal guard, get out of the driver’s seat of one of them. Deciding to stretch her legs, Mercy opened the car door, crossed the road alone and stopped at a sign next to a path the led into an apple orchard.

_Sexy Red_  
_Sugar Sweet_  
_Red Beauty_  
_Luscious Pink  
_ _Deep Purple_

Each sign had an arrow beneath the text, and most pointed in different directions, indicating where in the orchard those varieties could be found. John appeared beside her, reading the sign and chuckling to himself. “Who the hell named these apple varieties?” she asked incredulously.

“Hmm, what do you feel like?” he asked slowly, stroking his beard thoughtfully with one hand. “Some _Sexy Red_ ?” She gave him a dark look but no verbal response. He leaned in close then, brushing her red hair from her shoulder before pressing his lips to the shell of her ear. “How about some _Deep Purple_?” His voice was low, his breath was hot and she felt the smouldering fire in the pit of her belly roar to life. She exhaled shakily and he grinned down at her. “We were going to stop here, but James thinks we're too close to the Gardenview Packing Facility. We have to move.”

“I expected you would have taken it back,” she said darkly as they walked back to the car, trying to ignore the dull ache between her legs.

“They destroyed everything we’d put in - there are more important projects that require my financial aid now. It’s not worth trying to take it back.” he shrugged, turning the key in the ignition. They were off again at high speed, hurtling past the outpost she’d taken for the Resistance with Brother James and his men in hot pursuit, stopping the car again at the Gardenview Orchards.

“I’ve been here,” she remarked, getting out and following him through the apple trees, picnic basket in hand. “I freed two hostages.”

He rolled his eyes and kept walking. “They weren’t hostages, they were _recruits_ ,” he corrected, stopping beside an apple tree where they wouldn’t be seen from the road. “Put the basket down.” He set to work laying out a blanket and then taking out plates, glasses and the food he’d packed, before sitting on the blanket and patting a spot beside him.

They ate mostly in silence, John stretched out on the blanket with Mercy sitting beside him, Brother James and the other guards out of sight, but likely close by. The orchard was quiet and peaceful, scores of apple trees lined up neatly, most of them decorated with glistening red fruit ready to pick. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves and made the grass wave lazily. She bit into a strawberry absentmindedly as she took in her surroundings and put her head back, staring at the canopy of leaves and apples above her, shiny red baubles that looked like Christmas decorations hanging from the branches. Mercy watched as John stood and stalked through the fruit trees, finally plucking two apples from the branches and returning to her. He pressed one of them into her hand before taking a bite of his own, laying back on the blanket. Leaning back with one arm behind her head and the other between her body and his, she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly.

John spoke then, his voice soft. “Did I ever tell you about my parents?” he asked.

Mercy opened her eyes and looked at him. He was looking straight up at the sky, bitten apple held loosely to his chest, forgotten. “Only a snippet when you had Joey and I in the bunker,” she replied coolly, thinking back to him telling them a story of being beaten by his parents while she struggled against the ropes that bound her to the chair.

He met her gaze - did he look apologetic? - and nodded, before launching into the story of his adoption and describing life with the Duncan's. Mercy lay beside him and listened, unsure why he was telling her about his life, but as he relayed his story to her, the scattered pieces that made up John Seed began to fall into place. Here was a man that had only really known love from his siblings, and they were torn away from him so early in his life when he was placed into the care of a couple who tortured him relentlessly, dressing it up as “love” and “self-improvement”.

“They seemed to think that my soul was tainted with darkness and the only way to purify it was to pray for days at a time, flog myself, confess sins that did not exist…” John said pensively, and Mercy felt her heart crack open, too full with sadness and pity she felt for him. “Then they sent me off to study law and I was finally free of them. I've been using the lessons they taught me ever since. I suppose I can thank them for that.” He moved his head to look at her and she swallowed hard, trying to force down the lump that had formed in her throat. A rogue tear escaped her eye, splattering onto the picnic blanket and she looked away, embarrassed.

John's hand clasped her free hand firmly, which was something he’d done before, but it always caught her off guard. Here he was, disclosing his personal tale of woe, and _he_ was comforting _her._ These intimate interactions were becoming more and more frequent and she took it as a sign of progress for him, gaining his trust, drawing out some of the compassion he had buried so deeply.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked quietly, still unable to look at him.

“You’re ruining it again,” he grumbled, starting to move his hand away. She squeezed his hand tightly, stopping him from withdrawing it, and heard him chuckle as he gripped her fingers firmly again.

***

Back in her own bed at the Ranch, Mercy turned off the light and lay on her side to face away from the door. It was the laziest day she’d had since she arrived in Hope County, and she felt relaxed, despite being unable to get John's story out of her head. She couldn't stop thinking about what he'd told her, and felt anger towards his adoptive parents for treating him the way they did. It revealed so much about him and his changing personality, why he spent so long torturing those around him - it was all he knew.

Sleep was starting to carry her off when cool air hit the back of her legs as the blanket was lifted, and right on schedule John slipped in behind her carefully, arm around her waist, face pressed to her shoulder. She felt his chest swell against her before it deflated, his breath tickling her back as he sighed.

“Goodnight, John.”

“Shut up, Deputy, and go to sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra points for working the game title into the piece? :P


	6. Piece by Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes his revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This chapter mentions and details sexual assault and violence/torture. If these are triggers for you, please avoid!
> 
> Apologies for the delay in posting the next part - life got in the way, and I haven't been in a position to write or edit. Things should be settling down now and I'll have more content ready soon :)

“He came into my cell in the middle of the night while I was… having a moment to myself… thinking about you,” Mercy said softly, unable to meet John's gaze. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, the fluorescent lights of the cell making the pigment stand out harshly on her skin. “Already had his dick out, forced me to touch him.” She chuckled darkly to herself before continuing. “Should've seen it coming, all the snide remarks, the way he'd grabbed at me in the interview room. I didn't think he'd actually try something with Earl around, though.” She paused, twisting her fingers together in her lap nervously. “Anyway, he kissed me, made me touch his… ugh, pushed his tongue into my mouth, so I bit it. Hard. Made him bleed, and dug my nails into him for good measure. He fell back and knocked himself out when his head hit the cell’s toilet. Earl came in, had him taken away. He avoided me after that. I'm lucky, it could have been worse.” A rogue tear escaped the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek. She brushed it away hastily, shaking her head. “I know it wasn't much, but it could have been worse, and I can't stop thinking about what might have been.”

A pulsing black rage started to fill every cavity in John's body as he imagined another man touching her,  _ forcing _ her to touch  _ him _ . The images forming in his mind made him ill, his stomach performing uncomfortable somersaults in his abdomen.  _ Another man’s hands on her flesh, flesh that belonged to  _ him _ and him alone, foreign lips on her skin, her fingers wrapped around- stop it. _ “Did he hurt you?” he asked quietly, trying to hide the anger he was feeling. Mercy shook her head in response, an obvious lie.

Mercy’s accidental admission of love distracted John completely, immediately neutralizing his rage as he sat in shocked silence, holding her tightly. However, his neglected wrath reared its ugly head again that night, when he awoke to her kicking him in the shin and crying out in her sleep. “Don't do this,” she sobbed, eyes closed tightly, hands reaching out to push away an invisible assailant.

Pinning Mercy’s arms to the mattress, John shook her roughly in an attempt to wake her. It worked, but her reaction was unexpected - she recoiled from him and tried to get out of his grasp. “Mercy, for fuck’s sake, it's  _ me _ , it's  _ John _ ,” he said, somewhat annoyed.

She lay there, panting heavily, her limbs eventually turning to jelly beneath his fingers as she calmed down. “Fuck… fuck, I'm sorry,” she said hoarsely, sniffing. “I… I was having a dream about Mick. But I'm okay, it's okay. Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

The rage John had felt in the bunker hit him like a freight train, and his top lip curled up over his teeth in an ugly sneer. “You’re safe now,” he breathed, releasing her. She turned away from him, reaching back to grab his arm and wrap it around her body. As he lay there, he silently promised she would get her revenge - and he would get his.

The following afternoon when Mercy was in the shower, John contacted the prison. “Oh, Sheriff,” he sang into the radio as he lay in bed, fingers tracing lazy circles over his bare chest. “Are you there?”

It took a moment for the familiar sound of static to come through, followed by the Sheriff's weary voice. “I'm here, Seed. What do you want? We're still gettin’ packed up - hell of a job, convincin’ everyone to leave. Lotta folk ain't too happy about it.”

“I'm sure they're not,” John replied sweetly, moving his hand down to trace the scars of  _ LUST  _ etched into his thigh. “I need you to do something for me, Sheriff. This request is not negotiable, and must be done  _ quickly _ .”

He was about to continue when the Sheriff cut him off. “Now look here, son, I think we're doin’ you a big enough favor-"

John bristled. “Do not  _ son  _ me, Sheriff,” he hissed. “If my request is not met, I promise you I  _ will  _ have that prison destroyed with everyone inside before you can so much as blink.”

The Sheriff sighed. “Alright, I'm listenin’.”

“Excellent. Now, I believe you have someone in your employ by the name of Mick, is that right?”

Silence. John continued to caress the scars on his thigh absentmindedly and was about to press the button on the radio again when the Sheriff spoke. “Did she tell you what happened? She did, didn't she? That girl did enough damage to him, John, I doubt he’ll be tryin’ that again in a hurry-"

“Is. That. Right?” John asked again, his patience wearing thin. 

There was a slight pause before the Sheriff replied. “That's right.”

John grinned. “That wasn't so hard, was it? You will bring him to the Holland Valley Station as quickly as you can. I will have men waiting to collect him.”

“You don't have to-"

“Quick as you can. If he's not there by noon tomorrow, well, I can't guarantee the safety of your people. Speak to you soon.”

He turned the radio off as Mercy opened the bathroom door, padding back into the room while rubbing her hair with a towel. “Who was that?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. John reached out, tugging the towel from her grasp and throwing it to the floor before pulling her down to lie next to him. “John, I just had a shower!” she lamented, but there was no fire in her voice as he pressed his lips to her jaw and caressed his way down from her breast to her hip, fingers dancing nimbly across her skin. She released a shaky breath that was like music to his ears and he grinned as her knees fell open automatically, welcoming him home.

He rolled to lean over her, relishing the feeling of her arms encircling his waist. “You'll have to have another one later.”

***

True to his word, the Sheriff had delivered the man to the station as requested, right on time.  John had his men hold their new captive at the Project-controlled location for a few extra days before having him brought to the Ranch. As much as he was itching to bestow punishment, he wanted to ensure Mercy was ready as well. He dressed up his hostage’s arrival as a surprise for her, dramatically pulling the black bag from the bound man's head. John watched wordlessly as recognition dawned first on Mercy's face, then Mick’s.  _ This is the right man, then,  _ he thought. Before he could stop himself, he had swung his fist at Mick's face, causing him to topple over into the dirt.

“Surprise!” John said happily. “Thought you might want to exact a little  _ revenge _ .”

Mercy looked like she'd seen a ghost, and stuttered a pathetic refusal, telling him of all things it was  _ fine _ . How could she say it was fine when he'd spent the first three nights since her return talking her down from nightmares about the very man who was tied up before them? “It's not  _ fine _ ,” he said furiously, dragging Mick up by his hair. “What he did to you isn't  _ fine _ . He must atone.”

Having Mick apologize to the deputy was only one part of the plan. It took a little longer than John anticipated to force the apology from his captive’s lips, but once he had, he dismissed Mercy with a gentle kiss, eager to continue his punishment. “You might not want to be here for the next bit, Little Dove. He and I still have some things to sort out.” He called for James to escort her from the building, watching as the side door to the hangar closed and locked with a gentle  _ click _ . The hangar was silent, save Mick's laboured breathing, and John pondered where to begin, settling on grabbing the man by the ear and taking his earlobe off with his flip knife. Mick cried out in pain as John threw the limp piece of flesh onto the floor in front of him. The bound man opened his mouth to speak but John silenced him with a wave of his hand, lifting a screwdriver off the bench and slipping it into his back pocket.

“As you know, I am John Seed,” John said evenly, voice echoing around the hangar. He took a few steps towards to man on the floor before him. “Herald of Holland Valley. Exposer of sins. Selected by the Father to assist him in completing his grand vision.” He crouched before Mick, resting his hands on the other man’s shoulders, unflinching as blood dripped from his captive’s injured ear onto the back of his hand.  _ Drip, drip, drip. _ John leaned forward, bringing his face close enough to feel Mick’s panicked breaths on his face. He smiled slowly, a cruel, twisted thing reserved for times such as these. “I am not that John Seed today. No, today I am but a simple man. A man who has only one care in this entire, rotten,  _ impure _ world. A man who has had the ONE THING HE CARES ABOUT FUCKED WITH. Not by  _ accident _ , or by  _ God _ , but by a pathetic little man. A man who his now at my  _ mercy _ .” Removing his now bloody hand from Mick’s shoulder, John reached for the screwdriver, twirling the handle between his fingers and dropping his voice, barely above a whisper. “You will pay for your actions. I will take from you, piece by wretched piece, until there is nothing left.” He raised the screwdriver, pressing the tip to Mick’s chest, over his heart. “Let us begin.”

***

The next hour passed by in a blur as John took his revenge and he found himself standing over the mutilated body of his prisoner. He took a step back, surveying the damage - one eye swollen closed, broken nose, severed fingertips on the floor, the man's testicles pinned to their owner's right hand by the screwdriver. The hunting knife John borrowed from one of his men lay bloody on the floor, its final task having been to slice open the man’s throat. John looked at it thoughtfully, then to his victim. Touching his split lip, he laughed to himself as he remembered challenging the oaf to a fistfight, thinking about the couple of fear-weakened punches that were thrown before his prisoner gave up, begging for his miserable life. Pleads that fell on deaf ears, for John had no sympathy for the man before him. John could not forgive him for his actions.

Had he gone too far? Perhaps. Would he need to be punished for his sins? Almost definitely. But he could worry about that another time. He had achieved his goal, taken his revenge and ensured the woman in his home, the only thing he cared about, was safe from the monster before him. Ensured that he couldn’t harm another again. Whistling to himself, John unlocked the hangar door and stepped out into the late afternoon sun, feeling content. It was time to get cleaned up.


	7. The Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staci Pratt listens in on a conversation he really shouldn't hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Dubious consent.

_ “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy to see your friend.” _ John Seed’s voice came through the small speaker next to the cot in Jacob’s office. Staci Pratt sat on the edge of the cot, closing his eyes briefly as he tried to reign in the mixture of emotions he felt upon hearing John's voice - annoyance, frustration, sadness.  _ Of course _ Jacob had bugged the room John and Mercy were staying in, just as he'd planted one in his own office to hear what she had to say to Staci, away from John. Staci felt stupid believing Jacob would give his younger brother any privacy.

_ “He’s not Pratt anymore. Jacob has broken him, reduced him to… to a pet. He used to be bubbly and vibrant, loved dancing and making jokes. Now he’s hollow, like a shell of himself. And it’s my fault.”  _

That was Mercy speaking. Her voice was soft and filled with sadness. God, what must Staci have looked like to her when she saw him? He had been so excited when Jacob told him she was coming to visit. Staci had been asking to see her for months, but Jacob wouldn't take him down to Holland Valley. He sensed Jacob and John had a tense relationship - Jacob had told him stories of John as a child, how Jacob constantly had to stand up for his youngest brother and try to protect him from their violent father. Both men changed dramatically after they were separated, however, and Jacob said that he couldn't figure his brother out.

_ “John's vicious,” Jacob murmured in a post-coital haze. “I've killed men before, sure, but he takes fucking  _ pleasure _ in it. His adoptive parents really fucked him up… I don't know him anymore.” _

Staci leaned forwards and put his head in his hands, pushing the hair back from his face as he listened to John and Mercy’s conversation. Jacob had not been forthcoming with information about Mercy during Staci’s time in the mountains and had made his dislike for her obvious. He was still angry over her actions,  _ their _ actions when they tried to arrest Joseph. In fact, he’d only mentioned her to Staci for the first time when she was freed from John’s bunker. 

_ “What do you mean she’s been released to John’s care?” Staci demanded after Jacob had told him about her relocation to Seed Ranch. “He won’t take care of her, he’ll ki-” _

_ Jacob grabbed Staci by the throat, cutting him off. “This is what Joseph wants. John won’t kill her unless Joseph wants her dead.” He removed his hand, smirking. “Can’t guarantee he won’t hurt her, though.” _

As it turned out, aside from some superficial cuts, John  _ didn’t _ hurt her. Mercy sat with Staci on the floor, just a few feet from where he sat now, and spoke about her past year in Hope County. She told him about Dutch, about her wild adventure gallivanting through Holland Valley, about her capture by the youngest Seed. He listened as she described her torture, her meeting with the Father, time with John and the people of the cult, her capture and torture by their old colleagues, their  _ friends _ . Despite being a little worse for wear physically, there was a new spark within her that he hadn’t seen when they first met, a new fire that burned in her eyes.

Mercy was right, though - he was a shell of his former self. When she first joined their team, it was Staci that convinced her to go out and meet people, it was Staci that coaxed her out of the fortress she’d built around herself. He took her under his wing, so to speak, claiming responsibility for her while she was with them. They would go out nearly every night, be it for dinner, drinks, dancing. He smiled as he remembered dancing with her in his living room, both of them eventually passing out on the couch. She had become a good friend and he had been devastated when they were separated after the helicopter crash. Now he was hollow, a vessel that existed purely for Jacob, a good pup that craved the attention and affection of his master.

Staci swallowed hard, his train of thought speeding away and coming to a sharp halt at his childhood home. Oh, if his parents could see him now. Too soft, his father always said of his only son.  _ Your sister is more of a man than you are.  _ His mother called him sweet and kind. Worried about him joining the police force. Berated her husband for pushing their son into it.  _ Always asking him to prove what kind of man he is, let him be! _ He never came out to them, never revealed his darkest secret, too afraid of his father’s reaction. His mother would understand. His sister would ignore it. His father would disown him. Staci often wondered if they thought of him, if they were worried he didn’t answer their yearly Christmas phone call.  _ Probably not. _

Jacob was pottering around the room, organising papers and ensuring the evening guards were prepared for the night ahead. Staci had been with the eldest Seed for a little over a year and could only describe their relationship as strained. Much like Mercy had with John, Staci at first despised Jacob, having been made to go through his conditioning (which wasn’t as successful as Jacob had hoped for him), then took on a new role as Jacob’s personal assistant. Things became even more complicated when Jacob kissed Staci for the first time - his lips were chapped and rough, his tongue was demanding and hot - and Staci had given in immediately, in every way the weak man his father and his captor claimed him to be. The truth of it was that Staci had become dependant on Jacob and took any scrap of affection he could get. He wasn't in love with the man, didn't think he could ever love him, but he took a small amount of pleasure in being able to reduce the eldest Seed brother to a quivering mess with a few strokes of his tongue.

Staci was pulled back to the present by the sound of John’s grunt of annoyance and exasperation.  _ “It’ll take your mind off things, I promise,” _ John said, and Staci heard Mercy sigh in defeat before it was followed by the familiar sound of lips pressing together, smacking lightly as they kissed.

Jacob sat heavily next to Staci, who moved his hands from his face to his ears. He had more respect for his colleague than to listen in on her having sex with someone, didn’t want to know, it wasn’t his business. Jacob’s large, warm hand pressed against Staci’s lower back and slid up slowly to his shoulders.

“Something wrong, Peaches?” Jacob asked, his voice deep and rough.

Staci lowered his hands again to his cheeks, shaking his head in protest. “Don’t make me listen to this. Please.”

Jacob hummed in amusement, that large, warm hand returning to Staci’s lower back. “Sounds like they’re having a good time,” he chuckled as Mercy gasped, then moaned softly. Staci could picture her, back pressed against the horribly dated quilt cover, chest heaving as John draped himself over her, possessed her. He could picture it, but he didn’t want to, part of him still feeling like he needed to protect her even though it was obvious she was safe in John's company. Jacob’s other hand came to rest on Staci’s knee and inched up his thigh. “Don’t you think it sounds like they’re having a good time, Peaches?” he murmured softly, his breath hot on Staci’s neck.

Staci gulped hard and nodded as Jacob reached out and pushed Staci’s hands from his face, pinching his chin and forcing him to turn his head away. Lips and teeth came into contact with Staci’s throat as his shirt collar was pulled aside to expose more skin to his companion. Staci exhaled shakily and bit his lip, his body betraying him immediately. He could hear soft wet noises coming through the small speaker, accompanied by Mercy’s breathy moans, and tried to push his imaginations of what was happening downstairs from his mind. He failed miserably, head filled with the image of Mercy spread out on the bed while John buried his face between her legs. The buttons of Staci's shirt were tugged open and the hand that had been on his chin was now pushing the material off his shoulders, sliding down his undershirt to grab at the hem and tug it up. Staci raised his arms obediently, knowing that resisting Jacob’s advances was not an option - not that he would resist anyway.

Staci did enjoy his interactions with Jacob, which he sometimes hated to admit. It wasn’t always that way, Staci initially complied out of necessity, out of fear of punishment, but quickly found Jacob to be a passionate man, taking the time to learn what Staci enjoyed and teaching Staci what to give him in return. Staci was quickly moved from his cage outside to a room inside the building but had only slept in that room once, spending every night since that first one in the large office Jacob used as his quarters. Outside of those moments, however, Jacob remained unchanged - cold, cruel, methodical.

This was the first time in a long time Staci didn’t want to be touched. Seeing Mercy had shaken him more than he thought it would, and listening to her soft whimpers of pleasure at the hands (and mouth, apparently) of John Seed when he knew he shouldn’t be listening was too much. Jacob pressed Staci to lie back, trailing kisses down his chest and stomach. Staci looked sadly at the ceiling, barely registering Jacob’s touch, trying to will himself out of the moment.

“Something wrong?” Jacob asked harshly, sitting back on his heels.

“I don’t want to listen to her,” Staci muttered, wincing as he heard her moan again. “Please, just… just turn it off.”

“You don't?” Jacob asked, leaning forwards once more and bringing their faces level. “The way you’ve been talking about her all this time, I thought there must have been something between you. Thought you might like to hear what you’ve been missing out on.”

Staci shook his head vehemently. “No, no, we didn’t - I mean, I’m - I’ve always liked men,” Staci stammered, brow creasing in frustration. “She’s my friend, I care about her. That’s - that’s all.” He made a frustrated sound, squeezing his eyes shut as Jacob reached for Staci’s belt.

Jacob hummed, unbuckling the belt with practised fingers and popping the button on Staci’s pants before removing them completely, leaving Staci bare before him. He made no move to turn off the speaker before he took Staci into his mouth, his tongue soft and wet, the feeling all too familiar, yet now also incredibly wrong. Staci shifted uncomfortably, biting down on his index finger as he heard Mercy cry out and slap a hand over her mouth, muffling herself. There was no sound after that aside from the gentle wet sounds Jacob was making, the firm muscle of his tongue stroking Staci in every way he loved; and he breathed a sigh of relief, pressing his hips up slightly as he relaxed into Jacob’s touch and placed one hand on his cheek lightly. That relief was short-lived when he heard John speak.

_ “Feel better?” _

The speaker was alive again, relaying every kiss, every rustle of the bedclothes, John’s deep groan of satisfaction which hit Staci like a ton of bricks as he pictured the youngest Seed finally claiming his lover. Now all Staci could hear was the slap of flesh against flesh and their soft moans of pleasure. He silently cursed Jacob as he matched his rhythm to the noise coming from the speaker, each obvious thrust of John’s matched with a deep pull from Jacob’s mouth, then cursed himself for responding to it. This had to be a punishment, he thought, a sick game Jacob was playing because he was bored, because he wanted to punish Staci for something, because of a million possible things Staci couldn't name. Jacob continued to move in time to the sounds coming from the speaker, the familiar warm chasm of his mouth wrapped around Staci, short beard gently scraping the inside of his thighs. It didn’t take long for the sound of John’s orgasm to sputter through the speaker, catching Staci off-guard and causing him to follow suit. He lay there, breathing hard as Jacob lay next to him, watching him intently.

“Staci,” Jacob said softly, startling the younger man with the rare use of his name. “I don’t trust that girl, but my brother does. If she fucks up again, I’ll kill her myself.” He lowered his lips to Staci’s. The kiss was soft, too soft - there was a warning there, a promise of the threat he’d just made.

_ “I feel the same way you do, okay? And if you tell anyone I’ll fucking kill you.” _ John’s voice crackled through the speaker as Staci returned the kiss apprehensively. Jacob reached over Staci’s body to turn off the speaker, muttering about John being weak before throwing himself back against the mattress and pulling Staci towards him. Settling against Jacob’s chest, Staci considered the older man's warning. Was he waiting for her to fuck up so he had an excuse to get rid of her? Would he just kill her anyway? Would John retaliate? The threat he made after admitting his feelings to her was obviously empty - no, John wouldn’t kill her, but Jacob certainly would, and Staci promised in that moment he would do everything in his power to protect her from the soldier, no matter the cost.


	8. Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John shows his weakness, just for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Smut.

_ “Joseph wants us to get married.” _

The words replayed in Mercy’s head as she stood before the door to the chapel in John’s Gate, wearing the same dress she wore to her Atonement. It was the same dress she wore when the bombs fell and the apocalypse began, and despite having only owned the dress for eight months, it now served as her Something Old. There had been no time to gather belongings when they received word of the Collapse, fleeing the church in Fall’s End to the safety of the bunker with only the clothes on their backs, and she had no trinkets or valuables from her life before she arrived in Hope County. John had the foresight to store clothes for her in the event the Collapse  _ did _ come (when he had done that, she had no idea), but this dress seemed like appropriate attire for her wedding day.

_ Her wedding day. _ It was something she couldn’t wrap her head around, as if the words didn’t quite fit together properly.

She looked down and sighed at the faded bloodstain on the neckline of her dress, a stubborn blemish in the pale material marking the place John had sliced through the  _ WRATH _ tattoo on her chest. In the few moments she had allowed herself to daydream about getting married in her life, never did she picture wearing a bloodstained dress. Or the ceremony taking place in a bunker. Or her fiancé being a scarred, tattooed lawyer-turned-senior doomsday cult member. No, her carefully cultivated fantasies consisted of picturesque gardens, a ceremony taking place under glittering sunlight and partying the night away surrounded by thousands of fairy lights at the reception. Perhaps even having her parents in attendance, had she the gall to contact them. Long tables covered in red rose petals, sharing her new happiness with close friends and family. However, those opportunities disappeared when the US was attacked and they were driven underground, so the fantasies would have to stay as they were.  _ Now I’m here, though… I wouldn’t have it any other way,  _ she mused.

Her eyes moved from the bloodstain to the shiny new buttons in the center of the bodice. These were her Something New, replacing the little wooden buttons that were there before - these new ones had been given to her by one of the seamstresses and were gilded, their golden surfaces catching the harsh fluorescent lights in the bunker. Something Borrowed was twisted through her hair - a strip of white lace James’ wife Anna often wore in her own hair. Mercy had struggled to find Something Blue that wasn’t one of John's shirts and had spent the better part of the morning fretting about it until she realized how trivial it was and settled on a pair of blue panties. She flinched inwardly, silently scolding herself again for focussing on something that wasn’t important.

Fidgeting impatiently, her mind returned to the conversation she had with John the previous evening when he had announced Joseph’s wishes. She was taken by surprise at his brother's request - they had never labelled their relationship, and she never thought of John as a  _ boyfriend _ . He was just John.

_ “Is that what you want?” _

_ “Yes. Do you?” _

_ “Come on, you can do better than that. Ask me properly.” _

_ He slid to his knees, trapping her in place by leaning his chest against her legs, his hands enveloping her own. Those endless blue eyes captured her gaze and she found herself unable to look away as he inhaled deeply before speaking. “Deputy… will you marry me?” _

_ “I guess so.” _

_ “That’s it?” _

_ “Alright, fine… yes. Yes.” She leaned forward to kiss him, hands firmly on his shoulders and allowed him to pull her off the bed and onto the floor to straddle him. _

_ John broke the kiss to smirk at her. “That’s a relief,” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Because the ceremony is tomorrow.” _

_ “What?!” _

She still couldn’t believe that was less than twenty-four hours ago, and now she was waiting outside the chapel, body alive with nervous excitement as she thought about her husband-to-be. Mercy wouldn’t call John an easygoing man. Sometimes, she wouldn’t even call him  _ nice _ . He was serious, brooding, critical; everything about him carefully constructed to show the world what it wanted to see - not what he really was. He spent his life living under a dark veil of pain and suffering, eventually using those experiences to drive his actions in adulthood. Used them to drive his actions with her, in the beginning. But he had changed dramatically since she had been unceremoniously dumped into his life, and she took pride in knowing that was her doing.

She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she fell in love with John - it was sometime between the first night he came to her bed, an exhausted emotional wreck; and the first time he brought her to his, finally making a place for himself within her like she had wanted him to for so long. The one thing Mercy did know, was that watching John fall that day at the prison made her realize she  _ did _ love him, and the thought terrified her. How could she love a man who was convicted of torturing and killing innocent people? But then again, couldn’t she practically be accused of the same? How many Project members did she mercilessly mow down, all because someone told her she had to form a Resistance and save the county? She may not have committed the same horrors John had, but she was certainly headed down that path before he caught her, and was quietly thankful she was given a second chance.

There were so many small moments between those two points she could look back on fondly - the small slices of contentment she gleaned from being locked in his sleepy embrace before he bolted from the room in the morning, the picnic in the apple orchard, cooking meals together in his kitchen, watching him successfully reign in his anger when things went awry, the pure desire she felt for him when he finally kissed her again. All of those moments that led her to stand in a bloodstained dress outside a chapel in a bunker at the end of the world, preparing to pledge her life to him.

Occasionally she would catch herself thinking about where she would be if her mission to arrest Joseph had been successful. What would she do if the war began and the one man who had tried to warn them was locked in a cell, while everything he had built to try and save people sat in ashes? Where would she be if she had successfully overtaken John’s home instead of being captured by him instead? Would she really have it in her to kill him? She didn’t want to know.

Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, Mercy smoothed the front of her dress one last time as she heard those inside the chapel stand, indicating the ceremony was about to begin. James, who was standing next to her, turned to her and cocked his head towards the door.

“Ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” she replied, nodding once determindley.

He fidgeted with a small device in his hand - an instant camera that had been given to him by John ( _ “To document our life underground,” _ John had said at the time, explaining the idea had originally been Jacob’s). “Better take a photo first, eh?” James asked, pointing the camera at her.

Mercy shrugged and squared her shoulders, hoping she was giving him a convincing smile. She watched the white slip of paper pop out of the top of the camera and turned away again to face the door. James opened the door and Mercy was transported back to that fateful night in Joseph’s church - Joseph stood in the center, John to his left, Faith next to John. The pews were full of Project members who all turned to look at her, except this time there were no scowls, no raised rifles trained on her chest; they were bright, smiling,  _ happy _ . Except for John, who stood with his hands clasped behind his back, face unreadable as usual. He wore his usual ensemble - black jeans, a black vest and his coat, but over the top of his vest peeked a crisp white shirt. That was a first. Mercy walked with James down the aisle and stopped before Joseph. James brushed his lips across her cheekbone and walked away to sit in the front row with his wife and children.

Inhaling deeply, Mercy turned to face John. His expression hadn’t changed, but one corner of his mouth hitched up when he looked at her. She raked her eyes over him, drinking in his manicured beard, pierced ear, the slight ruddiness of his cheeks and neck. He'd buttoned his shirt up higher than usual, leaving only the top button open and hiding the sin marked across his chest.

Joseph looked at each of them in turn, a gentle smile gracing his features before he spoke to the room. “Brothers and sisters, my children,” he began, his voice ringing clear in the small space. “We are gathered here today to witness the joining of two fated souls before the Lord. Brother John and Sister Mercy stand before us today to pledge their love and their lives to one another in His name.” He paused, taking in the faces in the room one by one. John reached out and clasped her hands in his own, and Mercy barely registered when Joseph started to speak again. She was lost in John’s gaze, anchored to the spot she stood by his grip on her fingers. Vaguely, she recognised Joseph speaking of love, trust, devotion, faith. About how it was God’s divine will that caused their paths to intersect, how the Voice showed Joseph which path he must guide them on, together. He told the room that path led here, now, to this small space beneath the earth so he could tie them together in holy matrimony before his flock.

Joseph turned first to his brother. “Do you, John, take Mercy to be your wedded wife? Will you cherish, honor and love her, as is the will of our Lord?”

John tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “Yes, I do,” he replied smoothly.

“And do you, Mercy, take John to be your wedded husband? To love, honor and  _ protect _ him, as is the will of our Lord?”  _ Protect.  _ Fitting.

“Yes, I do.”

Joseph nodded. “James, my child, do you have the rings?”

_ Rings?  _ she thought.  _ Where would they get rings? _

James and Anna approached, slipping off their own wedding bands, James handing his to Mercy, and Anna passing hers to John.

Joseph had them repeat traditional vows to one another, each slipping the borrowed rings onto the hands of the other. “You may now seal this marriage with your first kiss as husband and wife.”

Mercy instinctively stepped towards John, closing the small space between them in an instant. Neither of them were particularly affectionate towards the other in the presence of company, and her heart beat hard in her chest as he lowered his lips to hers. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her against his chest as they kissed and she brought hers up to grasp his shoulders. Their audience burst into hearty applause and they separated almost reluctantly. John caught her hand in his and turned to face the crowd, flashing his signature charming grin. She smiled at the man beside her, the man who was once her enemy.

John Seed. Lawyer. Baptist.  _ Husband. _

***

The reception passed by in a blur of music, singing, dancing and food. John appeared relaxed and happy, but Mercy could tell he was impatient to escape. He sat at the table with his brother, watching as she waltzed around the room with a man who worked as a chef, and tapping his foot impatiently. The song changed and she switched partners, finding herself flung to a new corner of the room and losing herself in the dance.

“You haven’t danced with John yet!” her new dancing partner observed.

“I don’t think he’s the dancing type,” she replied breathily, trying to keep up with the beat of the music.

The song ended and the man stepped back, giving her a small wave before wandering off, panting. “Mind if I cut in?” John’s voice came from behind her.

Surprised, Mercy whirled around found herself and face-to-face with her new husband. She gave him a weak smile, slightly dizzy and out of breath. While she was distracted, a small choir had assembled and started a sweet rendition of  _ Let the Water Wash Away Your Sins _ . Mercy gave John a puzzled look and he merely shrugged in response, pulling her forwards to rest her cheek on his shoulder. He'd clearly planned this, and she was touched by the uncharacteristically affectionate gesture. They swayed gently on the spot, eyes closed, and she thought back on the few times John had held her in the river, expelling her worries and fears into the water. This was her favourite Project song for that reason, and he knew that. She tightened her grip around his waist subconsciously as the song ended, unwilling to let the moment end.

As a new song began, John dipped his head down, pressing his cheek to hers. “Let’s get out of here,” he said and she nodded eagerly.

John held his hand up to pause the music, all eyes turning to him. “Thank you all for joining us on this happy occasion,” he called out, voice smooth as silk. “Mercy and I appreciate it, more than you will ever know. But now-” He bent down and scooped her into his arms, catching her off-guard. “We will retire, and celebrate in  _ private _ .”

Mercy’s cheeks lit up like a neon sign as the crowd cheered, waving them off as he carried her out of the room and down the empty hall. He set her down at the staircase and she gave him a mischievous grin.

“You’re an ass,” she laughed, straightening her dress.

“But you love me,” he shot back quickly, making his way down the stairs without a backwards glance.

_ I do,  _ she thought, following him down. They made the short journey to their quarters in silence, John opening the door and allowing her to enter first. Nothing had changed, of course, but she felt like something had, like the balance had shifted and the room was different. The bed was the same, neatly made and dressed in dark blue sheets with a black quilt cover. The black leather couch was still to the left, coffee table sitting on a bear skin rug before it and a cluttered bookshelf standing proudly against the wall. The room was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp sitting on the desk to her right, one of John's tattoo guns glinting under the soft light. She raised one brow at him as he took off James’ ring and set it aside on the desk. “We’re just borrowing these, I’m to return them tomorrow,” he explained as she gave him a puzzled look. “Since I was unable to obtain rings to keep, I thought I’d make them myself,” he said, checking the equipment and loading a fresh needle into it. “What do you think?”

Of course. They wouldn’t have an opportunity to get their own rings elsewhere, and a tattoo would be a permanent reminder of this day, their vows, their bond. It was so…  _ John _ . “Perfect.” she smiled.

He gestured for her to sit and she obeyed, removing Anna’s ring and placing her hand on the table. John switched the equipment on, its gentle hum filling every corner of the room as he set to work, inking a simple black line into the base of her ring finger. When he finished she stood, allowing him to sit and repeat the process for himself, the fresh ink sitting over the  _ T  _ already tattooed onto his finger like a dark halo. The buzzing of the tattoo gun died and John stood, reaching out with one hand to touch the bloodstain on her dress.

“I'm glad you chose that one,” he said softly, fingers tracing the faded brown patch below her collarbone. “I had it made for you, for the Atonement.” His fingers dropped lower, following the curve of her breast through the fabric and making her shiver. “When it was delivered, I did wonder… never mind.”

He had piqued her interest and she was reluctant to let the comment slide. “Wondered what?” she pressed.

His hand stopped on her waist and he met her gaze uneasily. “I never thought I would have the opportunity to call someone my wife,” he said carefully.

“Why?”

John chuckled but did not answer, instead pulling her forwards. “Now, marriage is a contract,” he said matter-of-factly, the uneasiness replaced by cool charisma. “And that contract isn’t binding until the marriage has been consummated, you know.”

“Is that right?” Mercy asked, reaching out to push his coat from his shoulders. “What happens if the marriage isn’t consummated?”

John didn’t answer as they took turns to remove items of clothing, leaving them both standing bare before one another as they’d done so many times before. He took her hand and led her to the bed, giving her shoulder a gentle push in encouragement. Mercy fell back, repositioning herself to rest her head on John’s pillow as he knelt between her thighs. Slowly, he kissed his way from her navel to her lips, pressing himself against her shamefully slick entrance. “Let's not find out,” he whispered, rocking his hips forward and sliding into her.

Mercy released a sigh of relief and pressed her fingertips into his waist, hips rising automatically to meet his. If someone were to ask Mercy how many times she had slept with John Seed, she wouldn’t be able to give them an answer. She knew every inch of his body, every scar, every tattoo, every sensitive place that made him shudder and moan. Sex with him was often passionate and rough, but something about the way he moved now felt different, reminiscent of that night they spent together in the Whitetail Mountains, laid out on the old quilt cover in St Francis’ Hospital. It was that night he’d admitted he reciprocated her feelings (in a roundabout way) and showed her with his body what he couldn’t at the time put into words.

With her back pressed against the mattress of their own bed, every touch, every kiss, every gasped breath in her ear sent electricity through her and she felt like she might implode. John pressed his lips to hers after each thrust, every movement deliberate and controlled. The slow drag of his cock against her walls was tantalisingly delicious and she squeezed her muscles around him, an involuntary moan of pleasure escaping her lips. Mercy ran her hands down his back, trying to memorise the way his muscles moved under scarred flesh, the curve of his spine, the dimples in his lower back. She pulled against him in an attempt to bring him closer, her lips claiming every inch of his flesh within their reach.

“Bring your hands up, one on the back of my neck,” John whispered softly, breath tickling her cheeks. She complied, one hand resting on the back of his neck as he asked, the other placed in the center of his back. “Tighter.”

She increased the pressure of her grip, holding him in place, briefly confused by his strange request. He slipped one hand behind her head, leaning on his other forearm as his thrusts became faster, deeper. He pressed his chest to hers, trying to touch as much of her as possible as their bodies heaved in unison. His eyes were clenched shut tightly and Mercy whined softly - she recognised this part, he was close. She wasn’t ready for it to be over so quickly, her body greedily taking all he gave and demanding more; another kiss, another thrust, another moan. He filled her over and over but it was never enough, her desire for him always insatiable. But then she ran her fingers from his neck up into his hair to cradle the base of his skull and he faltered, a soft whimper escaping his lips she’d never heard before and he pressed his face against her cheek as he came, his hand behind her head holding her close. It was then the realization dawned on her that he was finally allowing himself to be vulnerable before her, letting down his guard and asking to be held. Her eyes prickled as she listened to him struggle to regain control of his breathing, gasping for air as his body shook and his face remained pressed to her cheek.

“I never thought I would love anyone as much as I love you,” he said quietly into her skin, sealing the words there with a gentle press of his lips.

Mercy's breath caught in her throat and she pulled him in tighter, lost for words. “I love you too,” she managed to squeeze past the lump restricting her airway. 

John chuckled softly, a deep, self-deprecating rumble, indicating he was slowly returning to himself. “I know. I just needed you to hear it.”

She could feel his agitation growing as they lay there, knew he was angry at himself for showing weakness. Knowing she would need to distract him quickly she pressed her lips to his jaw and pushed her hips up to his, smiling at him wantonly. “Come on, my turn.”

Sometime later, Mercy found herself in a familiar position - basking in the afterglow of orgasm, her skin slick with sweat and a heavily tattooed arm resting possessively across her ribs. The arm that belonged to her husband, who was stretched out peacefully beside her, eyes closed. He shuffled closer to her despite the heat between them, lifting one leg and resting it on hers while he moved his head to her pillow. Smiling, she turned her face towards him and touched her forehead to his.

“Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, wife.”


	9. Penny for Your Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny Adams is a newlywed in the Project at Eden’s Gate, having married in John’s Gate not long after the bombs fell. She sneaks away from her new husband to find strength in prayer, but finds something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Smut - definitely nsfw.

After quietly pulling on a pair of socks, nineteen-year-old Penny McAlister - no, she was Penny  _ Adams _ , now - slipped out of the small room she was sharing with her new husband. He was the same age as her, they’d gone to the same school, taken all the same classes - they’d practically already spent their entire lives together, and now, ten months after the bombs had fallen, she was destined to be by his side forever. She glanced at him sadly before closing the door and scurrying down the hall. She loved her husband, they had always been friends, but her heart belonged to another - John Seed. John was the Father’s younger brother; he was tall, handsome and kind to her, the embodiment of what she wanted in a husband. It was easy to picture him taking care of her, holding her, spending Sunday evenings sharing a meal with his brother and sister. He made her melt every time she saw him, just by being there, and when he looked at her she felt a warm ball of nervous energy and desire form in the pit of her belly. She couldn’t help it - she loved him, with all her being, with her  _ soul _ . However, he loved another and could not see Penny the way she saw him.

John had given his heart to the woman who had invaded Hope County to arrest the Father. Of all people! Penny's mama had said that John was too old for her anyway. When Penny tried to argue that she didn't care about age, her mama had told her to leave him alone - he was spoken for and that's that. Penny had even attended their wedding reception, holding onto a shred of hope that he may change his mind and confess his feelings, but he had not. She'd seen the tattoo on the deputy’s ring finger, binding her to John. But Penny still couldn't accept that, didn't want to believe that an outsider could take John from her. She just wanted to be with him, she could forgive him for his past sins if only he would look at her the way he looked at the deputy. But now, now she was a married woman herself and any hope she had of being with John had been quashed.

Sighing, Penny climbed the stairs and stopped outside the chapel. She knew there was no point pining over John Seed, but she couldn't help the sinful thoughts that crept into her mind when she saw him and often found herself thinking about John when making love with her husband. How would John treat her if he were in her bed? What did he enjoy, what gave him pleasure? Shaking her head, she raised her eyes to the cold metal door of the chapel. This is where she came whenever she was conflicted - she would come to pray, to ask for guidance, for forgiveness. She found solace in the chapel alone at night - well, what the clock told her was night. Tonight she needed to ask once more for forgiveness, for she had again pictured John in her bed instead of her husband. It was wrong, she knew it was wrong, but she simply couldn't help herself.

The halls were empty and everyone was asleep, a sense of calm and quiet enveloping the bunker which was now her home. The door to the chapel was closed almost all the way, which was unusual - it was always open, welcoming anyone within the safety of its walls.  _ It’s the middle of the night, after all… _ she reasoned, and pushed it open enough to slip inside before closing it again gently. It was dark inside, the only light coming from two candles lit at the back of the room on the floor behind the altar. That was odd, why were they on the floor? She went to take a step closer when she heard a noise, a deep grunt followed by a low moan.

“Ah… uh… fuck…”

That was John. That was  _ John _ . Where was he? What was he  _ doing _ ?

“Jesus Christ,” she heard him mutter. “No, move - unh, fuck. Yes, like that.”

Penny moved cautiously and silently around to the left so she could see behind the podium, sticking to the shadows so she wouldn't be seen. The first thing she saw was a puddle of red hair on the floor glinting in the candlelight. Following the hair across towards the far wall, she saw the face of the deputy, Mercy. Mercy’s eyes were closed and her cheeks were flushed, tongue darting out to glide over her swollen lips. Moving around further and hugging the wall, Penny could see them both clearly. Mercy was wearing the same dress she’d worn to her atonement and wedding, the skirt of the dress bunched up around her waist. One of John’s hands was wrapped around her throat and his pants were down at his knees, his hips slamming against hers obscenely. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room as he thrust into her, the expression on his face utterly ravenous.

Penny knew she should look away. She should leave. She should close her eyes and just  _ run _ \- but she couldn't. John was mesmerising, and she couldn’t help but picture herself lying beneath him, legs spread and hair messy as he drove himself into her over and over. The deputy made a noise somewhere between a gag and a whine, and he released her throat, his hand settling on her ribs instead. She lay still while he moved above her, trying to catch her breath, one hand rubbing her throat gingerly. Then she reached down and undid the three buttons on her dress, pulling the material down to expose her breasts. Penny watched with a pang of jealousy as John’s hand moved from Mercy’s torso to her breast, pinching the small pink bud of one of her nipples between his thumb and index finger before bending down and taking it into his mouth. She could see his tongue flick out to taste it before his lips closed around it, could hear the wet noises he made as he sucked gently. She watched as the deputy’s eyes closed and she pushed her chest up to meet his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair.

A deep growl was pulled from John's throat as he pulled away and out of his lover completely. As he knelt above her, staring at her hungrily, Penny could see him,  _ properly  _ see him as she’d wanted to for so long. His shirt was open and her eyes landed on the scars across his chest, illuminated by the candlelight, the ugly raised marks throwing grotesque shadows across his skin. Her eyes trailed down, over his stomach, following the line of dark hair that started below his navel and travelled down to his cock, which stood proud and hard, twitching slightly with his pulse.

“Turn over,” he commanded, his voice husky and low.

Mercy smirked. “Say please,” she teased, stroking the inside of one of her thighs with one hand. Penny’s mouth dropped open. Why wasn’t she doing as he commanded? If  _ she _ were in that position-

John suddenly lurched forwards, covering the deputy’s mouth with his and delivering a bruising kiss. “Please,” he purred, biting her bottom lip before pulling away. The deputy turned over after giving him a cheeky grin. “Hands out in front, chest to the floor,” he said harshly, pushing the skirt of her dress up over her hips slowly, gradually revealing her pale skin beneath the cloth.

She complied, her palms and chest flat on the floor, her ass in the air before him. Finally, he finished pushing her dress up to her shoulders, and Penny could see shiny scars on the deputy’s side, forming the word  _ YES _ . Did John do that to her? She watched as he took himself in hand, stroking roughly as he used his other hand to tease the deputy, his fingers plunging between her legs. Penny’s breath caught in her throat as she watched him pleasure himself, biting her own lip hard. She couldn’t quite see what John was doing to his wife, as Mercy was facing her, but she could definitely  _ imagine _ what he was doing and felt a rush of warmth between her legs as she thought about him doing that to her. Mercy called his name quietly, followed by a soft  _ please _ and Penny watched as he pushed into her again, holding her hips firmly. He was steady and controlled, but the more soft sounds Mercy made, the more erratic he became, eventually leaning forward and holding her down with one hand on the base of her neck, the other gripping her hip so firmly his knuckles were turning white.

“Ah, Christ,” John panted, his head falling forwards in concentration. “Don’t fucking move.”

Penny watched as Mercy stayed still, palms still flat against the floor, eyes shut tightly, her only movements caused by John ramming himself into her over and over, her body rocking violently with the force of his thrusts. He changed his mind and ordered she touch herself, and Penny nearly followed the order too, her fingers twitching to eagerly press between her own legs to relieve the ache there. John’s hand slid up to tangle in Mercy’s hair and Penny watched, shocked, as he yanked her up by her hair and fought with her dress to get it off over her head, throwing it to one side and holding her upright with his arm wrapped around her body, holding onto one of her breasts. His other hand came to rest on her waist and she leaned forward into his touch as he continued to fuck her on the floor of the chapel. Now the deputy was naked, Penny could see even more scars and marks on her body - sins etched into her flesh, presumably by her husband. 

Mercy cried out suddenly, her fingers between her legs pausing as her head dropped back to rest on John's shoulder. He pressed his cheek to hers, quickening his pace, placing a few light kisses on the side of her throat before pushing her violently forwards again to the floor, grabbing her hips and driving into her like an animal. More scars were visible on Mercy’s back - pale thin lines that littered her skin, and Penny briefly wondered how she got them. John eventually stopped, cursing loudly as his body shuddered and he fell forwards over her, catching himself on one hand while he fought to control his breathing. He placed gentle kisses over her shoulders and neck before rolling off her and wriggling back into his pants. Groaning with the effort of sitting up, he grabbed her dress and she turned over, sitting up and letting him help her into the garment. They both flopped back to the floor, holding each other tightly, the sound of their heavy breathing filling the room.

Eventually, John spoke, his eyes closed and his lips pressed against Mercy’s forehead. “Go back to bed, Penny.”

She bolted for the door and didn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading! If you're enjoying my ramblings, please leave a kudos or a comment :)


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